


Rain

by sherlockpotterlover



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Sherlock is back, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 07:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockpotterlover/pseuds/sherlockpotterlover
Summary: “Everyone wants happiness. No one wants pain. But you can’t have a rainbow, without a little rain.”





	Rain

The windows in his bedroom rattled as John slammed his door shut. He was fuming! Sherlock had,  _ once again _ , left him behind at the crime scene, with no word on where he was going. One minute he was practically flying around the scene, and in the next, he had gone. He had texted him, and even called, but the bastard wasn’t answering his phone, so he had been forced to try and find a taxi, and wouldn’t luck have it, there wasn’t a single one around!

_ I swear, it’s like they avoid me on purpose.  _ John had thought.

So here he was, shucking off his completely soaked clothes, because,  _ of course _ , it would begin to pour when he decided to walk! John tossed his clothes into the hamper and rummaged through his dresser to find something warm to put on after he had dried off. He really thought that Sherlock was getting better about this. He hadn’t done this to him in at least two months, and John began to feel like it was foolish to think that Sherlock would think about him before tearing off and endangering his own life. He liked to think that he meant something to him. The very thought of Sherlock in danger made it feel like he could barely breathe. If only he knew where he was! And just like that the anger, that had subsided with his worry, flared back up. He couldn’t help him, if he got himself into trouble, because the arsehole somehow got rid of his phones GPS during his latest ‘ _ Fuck you _ ’ to his brother, Mycroft. There was nothing to be done but wait for him to return to Baker Street.

For the next few hours, John stewed in his anger. Every time he started to calm down, he would think of something that made him angry all over again, losing track of how many cups of tea he had, in an effort to compose himself. Soon he found himself at the window, looking down onto the street. What had started as a heavy rain when he walked home, had turned into what could only be described as a torrential downpour. He could barely see the lamp posts outside, the rain was so heavy, and he couldn’t hear a thing with how loud it was.

John had to admit, after Sherlock came back, he had hoped that they would… well say what they felt. John had been sure that Sherlock had felt  _ something _ for him before he faked his death, and John, well, he couldn’t find anyone else. Sherlock was it. His heart broke the day that they put his casket in the ground, and his mind was a whirlwind of regret. Regret for not telling him how he felt. Regret for not taking the chance when he could. His heart was heavy, and it felt as though he spent the next two years living half a life. It was the darkest time of his life and all he wanted was for someone to turn on the light.

Of course, when he came back, things were crazy and emotional, and John didn’t really know what to feel. But what he did know was that he still cared for Sherlock Holmes. It had been nearly a year since his return and John still struggled to find the words to tell Sherlock how he felt. It never seemed like the right moment.

Lost in his own thoughts, John didn’t notice the footfalls on the stairs. It wasn’t until Sherlock burst into the room, breathless and a wide grin on his face that John tore his eyes from the window. “I knew it was the cook!” Sherlock crowed. He spun excitedly, his coat flaring out around him and water flying in all directions. It seemed that Sherlock didn’t even notice the tsunami of rain outside. “He—” Sherlock stopped when he saw John; his face looked as though it was made of stone and his eyes were hard, the soft blue, turned cold with anger. “John, what’s the matter?” John turned his back to him, looking back out the window.

It was silent for a moment before he spoke. “Nice to see that you’re  _ safe _ .” John practically spits the last word out. He thought that he was angry  _ before _ . The hurt in his heart intensified as he thought of the look on Sherlock’s face when he came in. He clearly didn’t think of John at all. He didn’t want to think about what that might mean. When Sherlock didn’t respond to him, he turned, and saw that he was still in the doorway. His eyes moving quickly over John. ‘ _ Deducing _ ’ John snarls bitterly in his mind. There is part of him that realizes that maybe he is being to harsh, too angry, but the other part of him is obsessed about the possibilities. What if he  _ had _ been hurt? What if he was attacked and taken away? He could have done nothing about it.  That thought made his stomach twist. John took a deep breath and spoke again. “Sherlock. You.. you  _ promised  _ me... you said you wouldn’t leave me at a scene like that. You swore to me, we were a team!” What started off as quiet heat, turned to shouting. He clenched his fists and looked Sherlock in the eye. “What if something had happened to you?!” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He clearly wasn’t expecting to come home and find John so angry at him. Miffed? Sure. Annoyed? Definitely. “Im clearly fine John. You know nothing would happen to me.” That was the wrong thing to say. John stalked over to him and jabbed a finger into his chest.

“YOU,  _ you _ knew that you wouldn’t get hurt!  _ I _ had no way of finding out where you were! And you didn’t answer your bloody phone! How was  _ I _ to know that you would be fine Sherlock?!” John’s breathing was labored. His mind racing. He had hated every second of not knowing, why couldn’t Sherlock understand that?! He paced back towards the window.

“John, calm down, I am fine. I am home and I won’t do it again.” Sherlock was beginning to get annoyed. John was overreacting, he of all people knew that time was of the essence when it came to his job. He didn’t always have time to explain everything. 

“How am I to know that?” John fumed. 

Sherlock sighed, growing tired of the conversation. “John, it’s not a big deal. I said--” 

“It  _ is _ a big deal Sherlock!!” John nearly screamed at him. Shoving his hands into his hair and pulling in frustration he continued, “It is a big deal because I love you, you great, big, BLOODY IDIOT!” And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, John froze, like a deer in the headlights. He slowly turned and looked to Sherlock, sure that he had ruined everything they had. He couldn’t believe he had done this. When his eyes connected with Sherlock’s, he saw something in them, but before he could even try to identify what it was, Sherlock took three large strides, closing the distance between them, and crashed his mouth to John’s.

John’s breath caught as Sherlock’s hands framed his face, and suddenly all the anger was gone and John was kissing him back, his fingers winding themselves in Sherlock’s rain soaked curls. But as soon as the heated kiss had begun, it seemed to end. Sherlock pulled back a few inches, his breath ragged and eyes closed. “I have waited so long to hear you say that…” He whispered. John exhaled in a huff at the words, trying to make sense of what was happening. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked into John’s. “Yes, I love you too.” How did he do that? Years of knowing him and John was still left reeling when Sherlock knew what he was thinking. But none of that really mattered now, not when Sherlock had just told him that he loved him! His heart was hammering in his chest and slowly, a large grin gew on his face. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered. They would talk about the crime scene later, but for now all John wanted to do was kiss this man that he loved with all his heart. A man who loved him back. 


End file.
